Just Haven't Met You Yet
by SherlockItsOnlyLogical
Summary: Even if your soulmate is assigned at birth, it's still difficult to find The One... Especially if his name is John. Rating only applies to some chapters and there will be warnings at the beginning at the chapters in case you do not want to read it. This is a Johnlock fic but will contain some Mystrade. Thanks to our glorious Beta! Find her here! - thatirishnerd.
1. Chapter 1

Ever since John Watson went into high school he kept his wrist covered, be it with an ace bandage or long sleeves. Once he reached the age of 12, kids started to make fun of him for the scrawly penmanship that was printed there. But it wasn't that messy script that was the problem. It was the name that was written there. But then again it wasn't the name either. William was a perfectly good name for a young bloke. The problem was that the name was in fact a name for a male.

Now, John had always fancied women. It's not that the thought of being gay bothered him; so much as he had never been attracted to guys. However, being called out on his "soul-mate scratch" made him uncomfortable. So in the long run it was just easier to keep it covered then to get shoved into lockers by some of his rugby mates.

Sherlock Holmes was not ashamed of the chickens scratch on his wrist, he was infuriated by it. He wasn't so much upset that he got made fun of because it was a male name. In fact, up until right around the age of 16 he showed his soul-mate scratch proudly, thinking to himself that somewhere there is someone all for him and only him. When Sherlock turned 16 he started to crave intimacy and companionship... but "John" was the most common name on the bloody planet!

So without any friends and no hope in his eyes to find companionship the gangly teen closed himself off; Sherlock used his mind as his companion, putting away his wishes and emotions. He tried as hard as he could to put this "John" character out of his mind focus on much more important things. Even though he didn't show it, John was always there nagging at the back of his mind. Whether he like that fact or not wasn't clear.

John Watson was not by any means a coward. The fact that he currently was seated on a plane bound for Afghanistan proved that. The anxiety bubbling in his gut could be because he was being shipped off to war. On the other hand, literally, was the fact that his wrist was in view to the public eye, and he could not strategically cover it up like he was used to.

Having the window seat John was comfortable and not worried about wandering eyes as the man next to him was fast asleep. But that peace did not last long as a baby started screaming causing the man to wake up. John could feel his fingers start to twitch as the man looked over.

"Good afternoon" The man said still sort of a drowsy tone in his voice.

"Eh...err... um… Afternoon." John said clenching his hand and turning to look out the window for a quick moment before looking back. When he returned his glance back to the man his eyes landed on his wrist. His stomach dropped at the sight. "John" was written plain as day. "Excuse me sir, but... I don't think I've caught your name."

"Geoffrey. And yours?" The man asked.

John's heart sank a bit. "Ah... um... John..." He said hoping the man wouldn't question it. John could see the man's eyes light up with hope.

"Um... uh..."

"-Mine isn't Geoffrey." John interjected before the man could continue. They both awkwardly turned away and slid into an uncomfortable silence.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU WILL NOT DROP OUT OF UNIVERSITY" Mycroft Holmes boomed over the phone.

"And who was it that informed you?" Sherlock groaned. 

"SHERLOCK, I HOLD A VERY HIGH POSITION IN THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT IT DOES NOT MATTER WHO TOLD ME, WHAT MATTERS IS THE FACT THAT YOU, ARE. NOT. DROPPING. OUT."

"You are not Mummy, I will do whatever I please. Now goodbye, I have better things to trouble myself with." And with that he hung up the phone.

He didn't know where he was going to go. But what he did know was that he was not staying at this blasted university for a moment longer. How dare Mycroft tell him what to do. He needed to stop doing that ages ago. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. Sherlock shoved some of his belongings into a backpack, making sure he had what little money was left in his wallet and his belt as he slipped out of his dorm.

His head was swimming with thoughts. No matter what he told him, Mycroft wouldn't understand. 'Mycroft was practically the British government, if he wanted to find his soul mate – which he didn't – he could spend a few minutes on a computer and come up with him.' Sherlock thought before scoffing to himself. He tripped on a crack on the pavement and went tumbling, long limbs flailing around him as he hit the concrete.

Once he caught his breath he sat up and looked down at his feet. Damn it, he had tried so hard. He thought he had found the one... he thought he had found _His_ John. But the damn bastard had lied to him! He pushed himself up off of the concrete and broke into a dash. He had to get away from here. He was done looking.

John was startled by the sound of people bursting in to the building – a patient. John dashed over to his station pulling out things he expected he would need.

"Any open stations?" One of the people called.

"Over here!" John cried shifting things off the bed.

"His name 's Will. 23. Gunshot to the abdomen." One of the soldiers said in a panicked voice.

He went into doctor mode, immediately putting pressure on the wound. "Nurse I need a numbing agent!" This man's name was Will. Or... William? Damn it he needed to save this man! "Shh Will, it will be alright. Deep breaths." he said to the man, even though he couldn't hear him. He had passed out from the pain long ago.

"Damn it, Nurse?!" He shouted but she was right around the corner. He knew he was going to be too late. Damn it this could be his chance. His only chance! He shoved the IV needle into Will's arm, draining in the medication. But he saw no motion in his eyes under the drawn lids.

John pressed his fingers onto the man's neck hastily searching for a pulse. There wasn't one. John Watson, an army doctor, who saw several deaths a day was almost in tears. He picked up the patients other wrist and looked down at it. His heart sinking a bit before he finally willed himself to look.

Looking down at the man's wrist he was finally able to breath. The name on the man's wrist was Hannah. God, this was the last time he was getting his hopes up. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"He's Dead. Take him away" Dr. Watson turned with a solemn expression and began to clean up his station.

A grubby 23 year old, with a wild mess of dark matted hair, sat huddled in a back alley of London. He was shaking severely and his arm itched. God, how his arm itched. It had been three days. God he needed a fix. Maybe he could go steal some from the bloke down the road.

He managed to get on his feet and a pain shot through his stomach. When was the last time he ate? Oh what does it matter, food is boring. What he needed was something better, something to sooth his aching mind. He stumbled down the road looking for Jim.

He came around the corner when he spotted him. "Hey Jim, you got what I need?" He asked. Jim nodded. Sherlock's current plan was to take the drugs and run. "Always do," He smirked, pulling a baggie and waving it tauntingly. This was Sherlock's only chance. He grabbed the baggie and turned on his heels breaking into a full out sprint.

A gun shot rang through Sherlock's ears and he couldn't stop himself from mumbling "Dammit Jim" as he turned around to face the angry little man having not made it far. Sherlock immediately took the gun out of the picture, by slapping it out of Jim's hand and across the alley. He was not prepared for what was next. Jim quickly sucker punched him in the nose, and Sherlock could hear the terrifying crunch of the bones as blood spurted out. He threw a blind punch in Jim's direction, only to have his momentum used against him, as Jim threw him to the ground, continually kicking him in his ribs. Sherlock moaning in agony as each kick bruised his ribs more and more. The pain was getting unbearable, and then the kicking subsided.

Jim approached Sherlock "Better Luck Next time!" he chimed as he collected his drugs, strutting out of the alley.

Sherlock began to think death might be welcome. It was clear to him he would probably never find his soul mate John, who's name dark on his wrist teased him so. He hoped that death would collected him soon, so the pain that rang through his body would be gone, but he mostly wanted death to get rid of the stronger pain in his heart. Why couldn't have that man just been his John. He wouldn't be here if he had been. Sherlock curled up in a ball and waited for death.

As a shadowy figure approached, he thought it was the figure of death himself, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to be no longer. But the figure spoke "We're going to help you, don't worry, I'm here." It wasn't death after all, it was Greg Lestrade , and the police sirens could be heard howling in the back ground as he faded in to unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

"So your name is Sherlock?" The DI asked writing down some stuff in his pad of paper.

Sherlock just nodded at him. He had just come out of the ER with a broken nose and a few bruised ribs but not much else. Much to his dismay, even if Lestrade had not came and picked him up, he wouldn't have died there in that alley.

"Is there someone we can call for you..?" Lestrade questions hesitantly as if expecting him to say no.

"The British government would probably work," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"W-what?" Lestrade asked confused. How did this man have any connection to the British government? He looked bloody homeless.

"My brother _is _the British government," Sherlock clarified. "I'd give you a number to call him but he probably already knows that I'm here and should show up in 3... 2..." the door opened and Sherlock sighed. "Hello Mycroft."

"M-Mycroft?" Greg said, grabbing his own arm.

"Yes," Mycroft said walking across the floor to shake Lestrade's hand. "Thank you for finding my brother Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"M-Mycroft?" Greg said still in shock to see the man with the name he had searched for, for so long.

"That is my name detective. But if that is all you are capable of saying I might need to have you removed from your position," Mycroft snapped.

"N-no. Uh..." Greg said rolling up his sleeve to reveal the other man's name written there in elegant script.

"If you thought I was unaware of that you must be pretty thick. As my brother has most likely made you aware, I hold a minor position in the British government. That being said I found you about 5 years ago."

"And you didn't contact me?!"

"I found it... unimportant." Mycroft said simply turning back to Sherlock. "Now brother of mine, you will-"

Greg cut him off. "Now wait, you mean to tell me, you knew where I was all this time, and you didn't say one bloody thing to me?!"

"I thought I made that point clear. Now if you will excuse us." 

Sherlock made a noise of dissatisfaction at the bickering. Mycroft was throwing something away. God he was lucky, he had his soul mate right there! 'He _knew_ about Greg and hadn't even said anything. That ungrateful son of a-' 

"SHERLOCK! You are thinking out loud again. As I was saying, you will be admitted to a rehab center so you can get your life back together."

"The only person in this room that needs to be put it in a rehab center is you for your _cake _addiction." He snapped.

Greg was still just standing there staring at Mycroft in silent rage. Mycroft just looked at Sherlock with a dull expression on his face.

"Childish whims won't save you now, brother. Athena and a car are waiting for you outside."

The younger Holmes let out an exasperated sigh and pushed himself up off the chair, sulking out the door, leaving the elder Holmes and DI in an uncomfortable silence. Mycroft turned on his heels and headed out.

Greg cleared his throat stopping Mycroft mid stride. "Will you be coming round again?"

"That remains to be seen." He said exiting the door slamming behind him.

Now in many rehab centers people don't get visitors unless it's for family counseling. However the case was not the same for Sherlock. Mycroft had used his "minor position in the government" to make a few tweaks to their rules. Sherlock was to visit with his mother and father once a week for 30 minutes minimum. The only other visitor Sherlock got was Mycroft on the occasion to make sure he wasn't being too stubborn. So it came to a surprise when he had been informed the DI that had picked him up was here to see him.

Sherlock got up and put some clothes on, as he wasn't wearing much before, and went to go see Lestrade. He wouldn't let on but he was actually kind of excited to have a visitor other than his parents, even though Lestrade was only coming to talk about his brother.

When they were both sat in the conference room at a table with some coffee, Lestrade looked up and Sherlock for a moment before speaking. "Hello Sherlock. I wanted to talk to you about-"

"My brother, yes I know. You have been through a lot looking for him and you're irritated that he has known about you but not contacted you. You are upset and lonely and have even gone as far as sleeping with one...two women? I also know you haven't been getting enough sleep, most likely because of the situation with my brother. I can tell by the wrinkles by your eyes, and the dark circles. I can also tell that your work has been rather uneventful, not too much excitement, and... you're looking for a promotion in the next month or so."

Greg just stared at him for a moment. "What?" 

Sherlock looked at him for a moment in confusion. "Would you like more?"

"No no, that's alright. I suppose I'll get right to the point then. You are correct about me wanting to talk to you about your brother." 

"Ugh dreadful alright let's hear it then."

"I was wondering if you thought he would ever come round. You know, it's been about three months and I haven't heard a peep."

"I wouldn't count on it. Mycroft keeps to himself. He is so lucky to know where you are, but he decides to be an ungrateful git. If I were in his position I would take you up in a heartbeat but unfortunately I'm stuck John-less. I thought he was the one you know, that bastard." Sherlock began to think out loud mid-sentence causing him to spew information he didn't necessarily want the DI to know.

However Lestrade was interested now, and wanted to know more, he had always been one for gossip. "Wait, you thought you found your... er... John?"

Sherlock sighed. He didn't want to talk about this with Lestrade. He didn't want to talk about this with anyone really. "Yes," Sherlock relented. He didn't continue. He didn't want to give information that wasn't required of him.

"And... What happened..?" The DI inquired.

A strange feeling started to bubble up inside Sherlock and he just needed to get it out. He had never wanted to talk to anyone about any of this before. Of course he had told Mycroft and his parents, but for some reason he felt a compelling need to tell everything to the unfamiliar man sitting in front of him. "I- I was at university," Sherlock started. "I had met a man. His name was John. Naturally, I had inquired as to if his mark had read my name. He told me it did but that he wasn't comfortable showing me. That he had been in some form of accident that made is mark unreadable and he didn't want me to be repulsed by it," Sherlock took a shaky breath before continuing. "I should have known that something was strange then, but I had just wanted it to be My John that I believed him."

Lestrade felt a compelling need to reach out and comfort the poor young man in front of him. He knew that Sherlock would never allow it though. So he sat quietly and listened intently as Sherlock continued. "It was a year and a half of my life I wasted with him. He was a bloody liar!" Sherlock shouted startling the DI and all of the other occupants in the room. "One morning I hadn't knocked on the door of the bathroom and he had just gotten out of the shower and I saw his arm. It wasn't disfigured. And it didn't say my name. The next day I dropped out of university and met Jim."

"Who- who's Jim?" Lestrade questioned.

"The one who got me into this whole mess. The reason we ever came to be in contact with each other." Sherlock replied.

Lestrade felt a surge of pity in his gut. He just wanted to hug the boy and tell him it was going to be alright. "I'm sorry to hear that." He stood up awkwardly "Well. When you get out get a hold of me yeah? I'll get you a job, keep you out of trouble. You seem to be pretty good at looking at someone and knowing things."

Sherlock perked up a bit. If there was one thing he wanted around the same amount as his John, it was a detective job. "Alright."

"I best be off then. Send your brother my regards" He said and walked out.

8 months later Sherlock was riding back to his flat at 221B Baker Street, having just finished a case with Lestrade. He had been on 13 cases since he got out 2 months ago and decided to label his career now as "Consulting Detective". This also meant he's the only one in the world. God was the police force thick. They missed _everything _important and almost convicted the wrong guy! Again! Nevertheless, Sherlock had found the right killer and had him convicted, so it had been a pretty thrilling day.

Besides his lack of a companion, his life was pretty good. He paid the driver and walked up the stairs to his flat. He only so much as sat down before Mrs. Hudson, his land lady, called up and said he had someone wanting to see him.  
"Oh for the love of god, who could want me now? I've only just arrived home!" He grumbled throwing himself out of the chair and throwing open the door.

Ms. Hudson was at the landing with a young woman with a round face and dark hair and eyes. "She says she thinks you can help."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but nodded so the lady walked up the stairs and followed him into the flat.

"Sir" The dark haired woman started. "I want help finding my Robert" she said quietly.  
He looked at her in horror. "I'm a consulting detective not a private detective, get out."

"But sir, please!"  
"Get Out."  
Tears filled her eyes but she obliged. As she was walking out Sherlock thought about it for a moment. He knew how awful it was without his soul-mate. He had to help her. "Wait. Sit down, I'll help."


	3. Chapter 3

There was darkness around John. Only it wasn't a deep darkness that just keeps going on forever and ever. It was fuzzy. His whole body felt fuzzy. Only when he tried to move, pain shot from his shoulder down the end of his arm and out his fingers one way, then straight down his leg and out his toes the other. It was almost too much but the fuzziness started to fade and he started to lose consciousness again.

When Dr. Watson finally came to, it was a huge contrast from his previous state of being. The room he was in was bright white and there were familiar beeping machines all around him. Familiar, only because they were like the ones he had worked with every day for the last couple of years. He tried to lift his head but the moment he got it an inch off the pillow his vision blurred so he gently set it back down. He was trying to remember why he was there; he closed his eyes thinking back to what had happened.

It had been a normal day. Just one casualty and a few cuts and scrapes here and there. But then there was yelling, and gunfire. Gunfire that wasn't in the distance. John's heart started beating faster. He hadn't been in actual combat yet, not really. He had grabbed his gun and in an adrenalin rush of a daze he stumbled out of his camp ready for what was to come.

The gunshots grew louder, but as they did so did the pounding in John's ears. His feet were stepping heavy, too heavy. He was doing everything wrong. His training wasn't setting in. He heard yelling behind him so he turned around. But that was a big mistake.

He felt it before he heard it. Sort of a delayed reaction. But the pain was like nothing before. The bullet ripped right through the back of his shoulder. He didn't have time, or the will to shout, or scream. He just fell; right then and there. After he hit the ground he thinks there were more gunshots. Or were they footsteps? Either way, he was too tired to find out.

When he opened his eyes again there was a pretty looking nurse at the end of his bed smiling at him softly. "Afternoon Mr. Watson. How are you feeling?"

He did his best at smiling back at her and thought about her question. "A bit cloudy, but alright I suppose. Better than I thought I would be doing."

She shook her head slightly. "You should be out of here in a few weeks. You are making a fine recovery."

"With Nurses as pretty as you in here I might not ever want to leave"

The Nurse rolled her eyes and set the food she had been holding down on the table next to him and left the room.

John looked over and groaned. One, shitty cafeteria food had never been his forte. Two, it was meatloaf. This was going to be a long few weeks.

Meanwhile back at 221B there was an assortment of things being tossed about. Beakers, books... teapots. Mrs. Hudson, being who she is, was freaking out– even though this happened for many different reasons on a regular basis – and came bounding up the stairs as fast as her hip would carry her.

"Sherlock, dear, what on earth is all that racket about?" she asked opening the door slightly. A book came flying in her direction and she didn't even flinch. It was not the first time she'd almost been hit by a flying object in this flat.

"It _smudged!_" He roared.

"What is smudged dear? Are you practicing that special calligraphy again?"

He practically ripped open his shirt sleeve and shoved his arm in her face. "Do you see this?" He squawked. The letters on his arm were twisted and turned. The name there was now barely legible.

Mrs. Hudson gasped. She knew what this meant. "Sherlock, dear, sit down." She knew he needed to be seated to hear this kind of news. "Would you like some tea?"

"No I would not like any bloody tea! Just tell me what is happening!" Sherlock screamed at the old woman. Mrs. Hudson threw her hands up and started to walk away making her bimbling little noises. Sherlock stood and grabbed her arm. "Please," he said quietly, his eyes tearing up a little.

"Okay dear, calm down. Have a seat," she told the young man in front of her. Sherlock obeyed and took a seat, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. "Sherlock... remember that what I'm about to tell you could fix itself. It could end up okay..."

"Please. Just please tell me," Sherlock begged her.

"This happened to me dear," Mrs. Hudson said. She rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to show it to him the morbidly twisted letters there.

"Wait... so... you mean... My John..?" Sherlock broke into tears.

"He could still be alive dear. Just... injured," she said trying to calm him. Sherlock took a deep breath. His John could be dead. Or hurt. Either way, he was in danger of losing him. All of the emotions he tries so hard on a daily basis to keep concealed hit him like a wave. A wave that was dragging him under again and again and he just couldn't get enough air.

Mrs. Hudson just stood there and stared at him, watching him collapse from the inside out. She couldn't do anything to help him. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage to say. "Goodness, Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Sherlock pulled his knees to his chest and turned facing the chair. His whole world was tearing apart again, and there was nothing he could do but sit and wait for it to fix itself.

Funny enough it was his leg that was hurting John the most as he made his way out the hospital doors. It ached with each step as he hobbled out with his cane and hailed a taxi. It was odd being up and around. Also it was odd that he was provided with a small flat. His whole situation was odd. He shifted uncomfortably in the cab seat looking around when he noticed the cabbie had a picture on his dashboard of him and a young woman, probably his wife. So John decided to strike up a conversation.

"Looks like you've got yourself a pretty one there, hmm?" He said a bit awkwardly.

"Oh, yeah. That's my fiancée, Lauren. We found each other by using that fellow Sherlock 'olmes. Ya know, the detective guy? 'es really good at that sorta thing. 'e found 'er in less than a week! Me and 'er and gone to 'igh school together! Can you believe that?..." The cabby kept rambling on but all John could think about that maybe this Sherlock bloke could be his last chance at finding his William.

John's head buzzed with excitement that night, and for the first time since he returned from the army, he didn't have a single night terror.

The next morning, John barely remembered to eat breakfast. He was far too busy researching this Sherlock Holmes bloke. He happened across what claimed to be the man's official website and... Wow, was it strange.

The thing was his website didn't say anything about being a private detective, and John was utterly confused. So he looked further into it checking the local paper websites. He found a bit about Sherlock helping the police solving murders and things. He didn't really think that was entirely legal, letting armatures work on crime scenes, but whatever. He went back out to the search page ready to close the laptop and call it quits, that's when he hit the jackpot.

Apparently there was a fan site for this mysterious man. John clicked on the link to the page and the first thing that popped up was a picture of this Sherlock character. He had high cheekbones and a mess of curly hair, oh and his eyes. 'Wait... his eyes? Am I finding him attractive?' John asked himself. His heart beat a bit irregular for a moment. He had not once, in his years had he _ever_ found a man attractive. It spooked him a bit as this was the first time so he quickly scrolled down.

There were at least a hundred comments about Sherlock finding people their soul-mates and how they were so happy. That's when John decided his best choice of action was to go visit the man and see what he could find out. He longed for that sort of companionship. So really, what did he have to lose?

Before you knew it John was hobbling down the steps, cane in hand, pulling on his jacket as he went. When he reached the sidewalk he hailed a cab, with some difficulty, and got in.

"Where are you headed?" the cabbie asked. He was an older looking man with white hair and glasses sitting on his crooked nose. Attached to the dashboard was a picture of two kids, but part of it was ripped away. And the whole cab smelled of shaving cream.

John took a deep breath and replied, "221B Baker street, please."


	4. Chapter 4

"Greg, I don't know what I'm doing." Mycroft said a bit uncomfortable.

"That's okay My, I do. Just, grip it a bit tighter" Lestrade said bending Mycroft over a bit more.

"This position hurts my hips, and it didn't work the last time I tried, remember?"

"Bend your knees a bit more then, yeah? I promise it's going to be fun love, trust me."

"But there are children around this time!" Mycroft whined.

"Mycroft, come on its fine, trust me, I do it all the time"

"But what if they want to join in?"

"There are plenty of other areas for them to do that" Greg said eager for the next round.

Mycroft simply shook his head and did as he was told, spreading his legs further apart and bending his knees as suggested. Greg had been right; it did relieve some of the stress on his hips. At that moment Greg leaned over him, playfully pressing his hips into the others butt and wrapping his arms around the other, placing his hands on Mycroft's.

"Okay, ready? One, Two... Three-" CRACK. The ball met the bat and went flying towards the metal fence, behind the pitching machine.

"I did it!" Mycroft yelled enthusiastically before clearing his throat and straightening his shirt and his stance. "Thank you Greg. That was an enjoyable experience."

"Oh come on you. Don't go all 'sophisticated Mr Holmes with a minor part in the government' on me," Greg said. "You know you had fun... Do you want to do it again?"

Mycroft nodded timidly. "Maybe this time I could even do it myself. If I hit the ball from the correct angle and the right amount of force..." He rambled on some more before Greg silenced him.

"Love, don't think. Just do." Mycroft held the bat firmly again and prepared for the next ball but this time instead of hitting it the ball flew past him back into the fence behind him. "Maybe I should give you a hand again, My," Greg suggested.

Mycroft looked at him and nodded. Greg came and wrapped himself around Mycroft and they prepared to swing when they noticed the machine had stopped. Just to the left of their batting cage was tall fellow in a dark coat and a blue scarf with a mess of dark curls swinging a plug around in a circle. Mycroft jumped and went to pull on the ends of his suit jacket before realizing he wasn't wearing one and he was only in a mere, less than posh, t-shirt.

Sherlock let out an ungodly snort of laughter, which made Mycroft even more uncomfortable. "Well, Mycroft, looks like you've gotten off your high horse haven't you?"

"I would not particularly say it in those terms, little brother…" The older Holmes sneered.

"And Geoffrey, I bloody knew something was going on, but this, really? I've seen you almost every day for the past six months!"

Greg cleared his throat. "Sherlock if you have seen me for the past six months you should at least know my name."

"George…?" Sherlock said unsure.

"Oh, to bloody hell with it," Greg said. Sherlock was never going to actually remember his name. That, however, was not the point. "Your brother finally came to his senses."

"In all actuality, he messaged me multiple times until I finally agreed to go out with him once. However instead of finding the experience dull like I believed I would have, I found it quite enjoyable." Mycroft stated simply.

"So you and him have been sneaking around for ages now and you haven't told me?" Sherlock said with the slightest hint of hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry little brother, I found it unwise to make you aware of these circumstances. My relations with Greg are not the most professional for my position."

Greg wrinkled his nose and went to pick up the baseballs the pitching machine had thrown. Sherlock let out a disgruntled sound, "So it's not proper for you to tell people that you, the British government, are shagging DI Lestrade?"

Greg let out a muffled chuckle his face flushing slightly. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, "Sherlock, I am appalled by your insinuation."

"Oh please, you can't tell me that the two of you haven't done anything. Just look at the way Gavin over there is smirking," Sherlock spat.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes. "Well if you are finished, I have a limited time away from work."

Sherlock gave a small nod. He was actually kind of glad Mycroft got off his fat ass and decided to get with Greg. He knew where he was. Why wouldn't he take that? He turned on his heels and walked away flipping up his collar and lighting a cigarette heading to the main drag. He wished he knew where his John was.

John stood in front of the black door with the gold knocker and inscription of 221B on it. His nerves were getting to him making his leg ache even more than it did on a regular basis. He went to knock but hesitated. Was this really the right thing to do? Was this cheating? Should he just find his soul mate on his own without help like many people do every day?

John almost walked away before deciding against it. Walking down the couple steps then turning and going back up, hesitating to knock. He deserved this though. He had been through so much trying to find His William and now he was going to do everything in his power to make it finally happen. They needed each other. They were soul mates, destined to find one another. So what if they had a little help along the way?

John took a deep reassuring breath and knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer at first. He began to think he should just leave while he had the chance to escape. He turned to go once again when the door opened. His heart stopped for a few seconds. He slowly turned back around, only to find someone whom he had not come to see, but instead an elderly woman with a sweet smile and a really ugly broach.

"Why Hello Dear! Are you here to see Sherlock? Because if so, I'm afraid he is out at the moment, but he should be home soon! Why don't you come in for some tea?" Mrs. Hudson said practically pulling John inside. John was very confused. Who was this woman? She was far too old to be the detective's soul-mate. Maybe she was his mother.

"Um… Y-yeah, I am here to see Sherlock," John stuttered out.

"I figured as much, I don't get many visitors myself. Accept for Mrs. Turner. But she's obviously not you…" Mrs. Hudson rambled on leading John up the stairs to Sherlock's flat.

After she had him seated and had come back with some tea and biscuits she sat across from him in one of Sherlock's chairs. "So, let's have a look see, yeah?" She asked.

"E..excuse me?" John said bewildered by the old lady's lack of privacy.

"Your arm. That's why your here yeah? For him to find your soul-mate?"

"Well yeah. Um… do you have any sugar? No, never mind I'll get it." John said pushing himself up. He hobbled into the kitchen and threw open some cupboards. Not finding what he was looking for, he moved onto the next.

"No not that-" Mrs. Hudson began as John threw open the cupboards not finding the sugar but instead a jar of fingers.

"Um… are these...fingers?"

Sherlock had eventually got disgusted by the fact the DI and his brother were together. In all actuality he was actually pleased. He had felt bad for Lestrade, being stuck with Mycroft and all. As he got situated in the cab that was now taking him home he started thinking, wondering if he would ever find his John or if it was a lost cause for him to keep trying. Even his brother, who had always been determined that he would never be with his soul-mate had found him and was happy.

The cab slowly lurched through the busy streets and Sherlock continued to think. He had solved several cases and helped hundreds of people find their soul-mate. Hell, he was known for it, not that that is what he wanted to be known for, but regardless, he was. And yet he didn't have the ability to find his own? What a cruel world it was. A world where he wasn't allowed to be happy even after all of the stuff life had thrown at him already.

As the cab came to a stop, he threw some money at the driver and climbed out hopping over the rail instead of moving two feet to the side to go through the gate. Before anyone could tell he had exited the cab he was gone into the flat, his long dark coat flowing behind him like a cape.

He needed time to think. He pulled his coat off as he went up the steps taking them two at a time. "Mrs. Hudson, I won't be needing any tea this afternoon!" He called down the steps before throwing the door to his flat open.

"Ah I see you have already brought some…. Did you know Mycroft finally agreed to go out with Gavin?! He actually _enjoyed _it too. Six months! Six months they went without telling me!" He boomed in his baritone voice.

John was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, just staring at him. "My god he's even more beautiful in person." He breathed.

Sherlock's head snapped in his direction. "E..excuse me? Who are you?"

John's hands flew to his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But god was it true. "Er… sorry, I'm John…"

John continued talking but Sherlock was not listening. His mind had stopped working and the only thing that was going through it right now was that this fellow's name was, in fact, John.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was blinking a kilometer a minute and his brain was sort of short circuiting. 'Was this man's name really John? Had he just… said I was…. beautiful?'

"Well John, that's very flattering, I must indeed return your words and say that you too are also rather attractive, however I don't believe that is why you are here. So if you would please stop staring at me with those gorgeous brown eyes that would be greatly appreciated. Now back to business!" Sherlock spouted. Of course, not out loud though. 

"Is he always like this?" John asked looking at the man in front of him who was not speaking or moving and just kind of staring at him.

"I'm afraid so dear. However, I'll leave the two of you to it then, yeah?" She said standing up with her old woman grace and leading herself towards the door, smiling and looking between the two smiling to herself. She knew what was there.

There was a buzz from Sherlock's coat pocket that seemed to have pulled him out of his daze.

"I'm afraid this will have to wait for another time, Molly texted." He said pulling his coat back on, pushing past Ms. Hudson, and whisking himself out the door and down the steps before John could get another word in.

"Oh… Molly." John said disappointed. He knew this mans name wasn't William, but he was rather attractive and not everybody finds their soulmate.

"Oh come on dear I'll take you to him. Come along. He's just in a mood, no need to worry." Ms. Hudson demanded gently.

"No.. er. no I wouldn't want to intrude on him and this Molly girl." He said cautiously.

"Oh…. Oh dear no, she's the lady that works at the morgue. She rather fancies him however, he really doesn't want anything to do with her." She said with a small giggle.

And before John could say anything else he was being put into a cab by who gave the driver an address and he was being whisked down the busy streets of London.

Sherlock sat in the cab his face in his hand. He didn't work with anyone who was named John, it was just simply one of his rules. But, this John…. could it be his John? He shouldn't have stormed out like that. But was it really worth it to get his hopes up like this yet again? He couldn't tell. God he hated not being able to tell.

When his cab arrived at the morgue he climbed out and headed inside. He needed to see what bruises appeared first on a corpse of a certain weight anyway. 'Might as well do it now' he thought as he walked into the lab.

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly greeted him a little too fondly. "I was wondering, if maybe… You'd like to have some coffee?"

"Black. Two sugars please. I'll be upstairs" He replied whisking away.

Molly sighed. She swore the way she felt for Sherlock was the way you're supposed to feel about your soulmate. But god knows Sherlock didn't feel the detective was all but unaware of her existence. Ever since that dreaded day she knew she never had a chance of finding her soulmate. If her family hadn't had such strict rules about seeing your soul mate mark until age 16 she wouldn't have this problem.

Molly had never even seen her soulmate's name on her skin. She never got to feel the joy of knowing that there was someone out there meant just for her. Because now there was no proof there was ever a name there. Not since the accident.

It was three weeks, six days, 13 hours, and, roughly, 26 minutes before Molly Hooper turned 16. She had been counting down the minutes for the last five years and it was so close. Soon she would be able to remove the cover that her parents had semi-permanently put on her arm to cover the name written across her skin. It had been there ever since she could remember and it was hard to imagine there would be a time when it would be gone. Her parents were strong believers in "finding the one without the mark" as they always said. But who were they to talk? They were soulmates and had found each other at age 13.

Once when she had been 14 years, 10 months, two weeks, three days, and 19 hours, and roughly four minutes old she had tried to look at it. It was almost time for her mother to change the bandage anyway. So she thought it would be smart to try and cut it apart and tell her mum and da that she had done it climbing a tree or something. That was believable right? So, being the girl she was, Molly stood on a chair in her room cutting away at the bandages. Pieces of the fabric falling to the ground as if they were strands of hair she was cutting from her head. As she was about to cut the last layer her door had flung open.

"Molly dear, I thought we could have a treat today and make some cookies. The paycheck just…."Her father stopped dead in his tracks.

Molly knew that she had been caught. She dropped the scissors and scrambled off the chair and onto the floor. She had gotten the belt for that one.

But anyway, Molly and her family was currently packed in their low class car, headed off to their vacation in Italy. The Hooper family was not particularly at the wealthy end of the spectrum. To say that was actually an understatement. The were smack dab at the far opposite end. Mr. and Mrs. Hooper had saved up their paychecks for ten years to be able to afford this vacation. And the excited atmosphere was so tangible one could probably cut it with a knife if they tried.

Molly, for one, was extremely excited. This was her first real trip out of England and it was planned just so that she would be returning home exactly on her birthday. Her bones were practically humming with excitement as she got into the car. Not only were her parents allowing her to sit in the back without a belt on -she was close enough to 16 yeah?- she was going to go to Venice! She had read so many books about it, all of the boats and the canals and things. She had never ridden on a boat before, and there was one particular kind she wished to ride on. A gondola.

Molly had it in her head that this was where she was going to meet him. A tall lean man with curly hair and beautiful eyes. He would whisk her away and hold her hand on one of those fancy boats.

She also very much wanted to try as much of the cuisine as she could whilst she was there. She couldn't wait to try some risotto, or even some polenta. Her parents said she could even try some of the wine if she wished to. (It wasn't necessary, and she didn't particularly want to but she was going to because she could!)

Molly wasn't really a people person, she prefered the company of animals or dead critters over human people. They were obnoxious in her mind, obnoxious and sort of scary. But her soulmate wouldn't make her feel like that. He wouldn't make her feel unwanted or alone. He would be there to comfort her and keep her company and make sure she was happy.

'Maybe if she did meet her soulmate they would do that meatball thing from Lady and the Tramp.' she thought twirling a finger up and down her bandaged wrist. Well.. actually no. That would be rather messy now wouldn't it. Probably cute, yeah. But messy and it didn't really make sense…. maybe he would just use his fork? Her thoughts would have continued if her father hadn't said something about to exit onto the ramp out of Switzerland and into Italy.

But that is where things went wrong. You see, when Molly's dad turned off of the ramp he didn't see the truck that was speeding towards them. Before anyone in the Hooper car could see any part of Italy a green pickup smashed into the side of their car, sending Molly, arm first, through the glass.

John got out of the cab where he was supposed to and headed inside. He wasn't quite sure where he would locate this Sherlock in here, and he wasn't quite sure why he had even gone in the building in the first place. This whole thing was seeming more and more pointless by the minute. But even as he told himself that John was shuffling down corridors until he found the right room. He opened the door and poked his head inside. Sherlock was sitting at a microscope turning the fine tuning knobs.

"Er… um. Hello." John said awkwardly.

"Hello, John." Sherlock said. The words rolled off his lips like they were the nicest thing they had ever said. They wanted to repeat it over and over again. "Afghanistan, or Iraq?"


End file.
